Take Me Away
by twitterp4ted
Summary: When Bianca finds herself feeling especially fragile, she seeks salvation in the only person that matters, albeit unexpected, above all others. Bimogen. Oneshot.


Inspiration from "Take Me Away" by Bailey Benz, the song playing most prominently for Bianca's plot in Drop It Like It's Hot.

I don't own Degrassi. Enjoy!

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><p><em>Take me away.<em>

_Let me tell you where I'm from, _

_Where I've been, _

_And all of that shit. _

_My eyes have seen so much, _

_Why don't you listen up?_

Imogen Moreno doesn't know anything about me. I don't know anything about her. I've told her nothing. She's told me nothing. That's all we should mean to each other. Absolutely nothing.

And yet, in this very fragile moment, this broken piece of my existence and hers, she is my everything.

All that I am, anything I've learned, what I've ever seen, done, been… It's all for her now, as she presses her red-lace clad petite body into mine and I arch my entire being into her. I'm giving myself to her.

I'm allowing her to use me. She can take everything I've ever known. Every fiber that makes up Bianca DeSousa.

Whoever that is.

And she can have it all. Because I know that, with her, being used doesn't always mean getting thrown away. Beaten. Broken.

I just don't know why she'd ever want me.

She runs her dainty fingers up my arm and along my bare shoulder, grazing my collarbone, reaching up to lay her hand on my neck, and she doesn't grip it fiercely, like my captor would. She's gentle, and she caresses the skin there like it's made up of a mesh of brittle diamonds, willing to crack with one wrong twist of the fist.

The contact her taut flesh makes with my own induces such a burning, captivating sensation within me, like a firework crackling and coming to life, brightening a dulled, almost petrified night sky. A damaged one, with no stars and pitch blackness. Empty, disheveled.

But brightened, nonetheless, and I find myself confessing everything. The words that I simply cannot contain, they spill from my lips like an act of unruly contraband, but the reassuring hush that she breathes in my ear encourages me and I keep on, completely unashamed, even as I lay beneath her, unclothed and scarred. She kisses my earlobe and nibbles light as a feather on it and I swoon, whimpering.

I am never this open.

I am never this weak.

"S-sometimes," I stammer through eager moans, reaching my hands down to grasp at her thighs, clutching her hips frantically, squeezing them. We sway in sync for a few moments. "Sometimes I want die. I just want to kill myself."

"Don't," she breathes and I watch through half-lidded eyes as she releases her hand from my neck to undo her high ponytail, letting her brunette locks fall down in ringlets, framing her perfect flushed face and _goddamn_, she is so beautiful it hurts.

"You can't tell me what to do," I say, trying in vain to express my typical iciness when really, there is no hiding the remorse in my voice as it cracks, then falters entirely. I feel rather than see her smile against my neck when she kisses it softly, then more forcefully, taking the occasional nip or two and I know she sees right through me.

"Bee." She pulls back and my chest physically aches from the loss. I stare intensely into her deep brown orbs burning holes into mine. I shudder at the way the nickname I never liked rolls off her tongue so strikingly it sounds as if it's the first time I ever heard it. It sends a fresh batch of shivers running up and down my spine when she brings her hand up to my face and tilts my chin up so I can't look away.

"What?" I hiss, scathed by the certainty in the way she speaks. She sighs good-naturedly and I shoot her a frustrated look, patience wearing thin.

"I don't have to tell you what to do for you to go ahead and do it."

My heart sinks. I want to rip her hand away from my face, tear my gaze away from hers, toss her body aside, walk foot out of her house and never come back, but instead I find myself shaking my head, tears pouring down my cheeks as I crush my lips onto hers, kissing her like nothing else could ever mean more.

She responds to my hungry act of fervor with a moan that sends my arousal into a frenzy and I tug desperately at her hair, bringing her face closer to mine, if that's even possible, kissing her over and over again.

One of her hands finds my cheek and cups it fiercely, soaking up the cold wetness with the warmth of her palm, while the other claws at my spine, grasping the small of my back. She's grinding her lower half into me and I gasp at the desire and pleasure the contact brings and I sob into the kiss, pulling away to breathe heavily, before diving to her neck and assaulting it with messy, trembling kisses.

"I'll take care of you, Bianca DeSousa," she whispers heartbreakingly, stroking my cheek and wiping some of the wetness away. My lips freeze at her neck and I look up, searching frantically for any trace of wit in her expression, only to be met with sincerity and I nod, leaning up to kiss her on the mouth again.

"Now tell me more," she murmurs into the kiss, then deepens it, plunging her tongue into my mouth, not bothering to silently ask for permission and I inwardly thank whatever God out there that she didn't. Her tongue explores every crevice of my mouth and I attempt to fight for dominance but fail when it dawns at me that she is the best damn kisser I had and probably will ever met.

She pulls her tongue away to take my bottom lip between her teeth and gnaw delicately on it.

"Well," I say, breathless, my lips hovering over hers, brushing slightly against them. "There are days I want to murder everyone. That is no understatement. Homicidal urges? They're real," I babble on and the phrase "foot in mouth" fits flawlessly right about now, but it doesn't even phase her as she ponders what I'm saying, all pokerfaced and utterly perfect.

"You can kill me," she says after a moment of passionate silence and I gawk incredulously up at her, completely at a loss, seeing and disbelieving her all-too nonchalant expression. I wait impatiently for her to enlighten me with any sort of explanation.

"Softly," she adds, reaching up to fondle the left strap of her lingerie, tugging it loose, then the other, teasingly slow and I gulp, taking a moment to try and comprehend the situation. How my back is pressed up and digging against the headboard of Imogen Moreno's bed, in her room, in her house, and more importantly, how the hell it gets me so turned on that I can't even begin think properly.

"Affectionately…" she's saying now, sitting up, propping herself on her knees in between my legs and pulling the straps down completely, revealing to me the stunning mounds that shape her breasts and I want to look away but I merely, painfully and not in any way have the ability to and that's when I find myself attracted to a girl.

A girl who just gave me permission to take her very life.

"Imogen," I gasp and she's inching over to me, lips pursed delightfully, beautifully. She smiles sweetly and I melt, any sovereignty left in me shattered and gone and I'm strangely very much in love with that fact.

"You can kill me softly, prettily, romantically. Bianca, I want you to love me," she says, and all I can do is stare, silently agreeing, the words I want to speak forming but never vocalizing. She clearly doesn't have that problem, perfect Imogen Moreno, when she curls her lovely pink lips to articulate her next dose of verbal precision.

What the hell am I even saying?

"I want you to love me dead."

I furrow my brows together dubiously at her statement, so puzzling, so definite, so intimate…

So _infinite. _

She's gesticulating to her body now, all sweet milky skin and tense muscles, now susceptible to the human eye as they're exposed, so furtive, yet chaste, taunting me, appraising me.

And it's then that I realize she's giving herself to me as well.

Her eyes are piercing and they cut through me like thorns on roses. Dangerous. Delicious. My heartbeat is erratic and I'm finding it difficult to breathe, like the oxygen around is all new to me and it's my first time inhaling, exhaling. It's painful. Delightful.

It's exhilarating.

In one fluid moment she tosses her body to the left side of me, lying on her back, her hair flooding behind her in a pool of chestnut brown. She thrusts her hips up in an impossibly graceful manner, reaching out to grab my arm, pulling me on top of her. She guides my body, poising it in a way that fits perfectly against hers.

The exposed skin of her torso is hot against mine and I can feel her enthralling heartbeat rapidly thumping against my chest. Goosebumps ripple up my forearms and I reach up tentatively to curl a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. I walk two fingers over her jaw, grazing one of her cheekbones, grabbing hold of those cute-ass Buddy Holly glasses that only she could truly rock. I pull them away slowly, savoring the spark that ignites in her eyes when there is no longer a glass barrier blocking them from my view. She grins and her whole face lights up.

She's precious.

…Especially for making me even _think_ of the word "precious."

"Imogen Moreno," I purr, lowering myself so our faces are centimeters apart. "What you're _doing_ to me."

She tilts her chin up proudly, and I can't resist a smile of my own. As I'm about to kiss her, she parts her lips suddenly, brushing them tenderly over mine and whispers, "I'll scratch your back, you scratch mine."

I cock a brow.

"Now," she drawls provocatively, bringing her hand up to the back of my head and tugging gingerly at my hair, motioning for me to move down, so I'm just hovering over her lower body. She giggles airily.

"Take me away."

And as I slip my finger in the waistband of her red lacy thong, the one my captor intended for me to wear, I can't help but think about how Imogen Moreno, the girl I know nothing about, who knows nothing about me, has grown to learn more than I've ever revealed to anyone before. How the girl I shouldn't give a damn about, who shouldn't give a damn about me…well, right now, in this fragile and broken piece of my existence and hers, she means everything to me.

From the untamed moans of delight that fall from her pretty pale lips, the bright flush of her cheeks, the sweat that glistens on her neck and forehead, the gentle rise and fall of her bare, beautiful chest, I know, I know it so well, that I, if anything, mean a lot more to her than any other poor sap in all Degrassi could ever dream they could be.

Because we are the escape we need in each other, more than anybody else.

_Take me, _

_Take me away, _

_Make it feel it's okay; _

_I'd be drowning, _

_I'd be happy drowning _

_In my pain. _

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><p>I just adore Bimogen. Thanks for reading!<p>

-xoxo tauruschorus.


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